Catharsis
by cr0wleysqueen666
Summary: With flames engulfing him, he felt the weight of his sins disappear, he was finally free.


**Catharsis **

**Summary: With flames engulfing him, he felt the weight of his sins disappear, he was finally free. **

_A/N: Now, I really loved "Everybody Dies," I especially the plot twist, however, I am a very angsty, melancholic person so in order to supplement my soul, I am going to cut out the plot twist and the happy ending and just end the show on my terms. This is my first fic for the fandom, so... oh well. But anyways, read, review, give me ideas for other stories, feed the writer ;-) _

* * *

**_I. Tragedy _**

It was futile. Death was inevitable. This he was certain, and no figments of memories long gone could convince him otherwise. Cameron, or the demon that looked like her anyhow, was right. Just give up. Sleep. Wilson was going to die in a matter of months, what was the difference if he goes first? So maybe he was suicidal, but he had every reason, he was so fucking tired of chasing the answers to a puzzle that may have never had an answer to begin with, he was tired of giving himself to others, and only to have them abandon him soon after, he was tired of it all, and with that, he moves very slowly to the front of the burning building, where, if he knows his colleagues well, he will see them, anxiety permanently sketched on their faces. Why not let them see him go? Wilson was going, what was the point anymore? He was going to lose everything before he could spend those final moments with the one person who never abandoned him, well until very recently that is.

_Thump._  
_Thump._  
_Thump._

Nothing but the beating of his tired heart, and the _whisp, whisp_ of the flames closing in around him, ready to entrap him in a fiery embrace. His mind started to drift as he slowly inched his way down the stairs, into the heart of the inferno. He thought of Cuddy and Cameron, Forman and Wilson...but mostly Wilson. Wilson was the light in his eternal darkness, the nothingness that often times made its presence well known in his life. Wilson was his contradiction, everything he wasn't and everything he wanted to be: respected, dignified, and most importantly, ethical. Wilson gave him the reasons to live, the reason to keep pursuing the answers to the puzzles. He was the only consistent beckon in his life when all the women he ever loved left him wounded.

_Thump._  
_Thump._  
_Thump._

His mind drifted back to his heartbeat, how peculiar, he thought, the resilience of the heart even at the very end of life...as if it was begging him not to die, not to silence it's beautiful song forever. For a crazy moment, he almost reconsider his suicidal decision, considered faking his death so he could spend the next five months with Wilson, but what good would come out of staying and then having Wilson go? What would he do then? It was like delaying the inevitable; why prolong what was unavoidable, he thought to himself. Consider it, he mused, a catharsis. Yes. The purging of his very soul, his demons. Yes, it was a catharsis indeed, not a suicide.

_Thump..._  
_Thump..._

Adrenaline was now coursing through his veins, he could feel the increased pace of the irregular heartbeats, they have reached a new crescendo, the song was almost at its end, much like his life. He was finally going to be free and no matter what happens after, whether an afterlife, a hell or even eternal nothingness, he will be free of his demons. Another two flights of stairs, and it will be over, he muttered to himself. No more anguish, only salvation.

Outside of the burning building, Wilson was running, his heart beating faster and faster, he could feel every muscle contract, his thoughts racing at the same pace; he has to reach House, or soon it will be too late...Wilson knew he has been a terrible friend of late, but what was he to do? He was simply too tired and sick to bail Gregory House out of the consequences that followed his usual escapades. But despite the recent frustration, Wilson loved him, more than any woman in his life, more than anyone in his life. House was his best friend, the air that he breathed, and though their relationship could best be described as parasitic, he wouldn't changed it for the world. He was dying. Only five more months, and he be damned to let House kill himself before he dies. He'd rather walk on broken glass than find House no longer living.

Absolute silence. Everything happened so slowly, or at least to Wilson it did. When he smelt the fire and saw the inferno, he made a run for the burning building, but Foreman held him back. Out of the ashes, out of the fiery blaze, he saw a solitary figure. House! What the hell was he doing?

_Thump_  
_Thump_  
_Thump_  
_Thump_  
_Thump_

His heart was racing.  
His thoughts soaring.  
Forman's restraint was tightening like a noose.  
What was happening?

_Thump._  
_Thump._

His heart's song was soon coming to an end. It was time to go. He saw Wilson and Forman in the far distance. Foreman trying his hardest to restrain Wilson. Fools, he thought to himself. It was too late. Far too late. He made direct eye contact with Wilson and Wilson only. And soon the flames engulfed him. With the flames engulfing him in their embrace, he felt the weight of his sins evaporate, he was finally free. There was burning but soon there was nothing. Absolute nothingness.

* * *

_**II. Numb **_

Wilson couldn't believe it. He just couldn't bear it. He saw it, and yet he couldn't believe it. He was gone. Engulfed by the flames, and the look of absolute content is what shook Wilson to the core. It was the look of resignation, the look of the lamb and the image of his now departed friend has engrained itself into his memory, refusing to leave. He felt Foreman's arm tighten around him, engulfing him in a comforting embrace, but James Wilson saw it as pointless. He was numb, nothing made sense anymore. He had witnessed Gregory House's suicide and it will haunt him for the rest of his days.

* * *

_**III. Catharsis **_

James Wilson has reached his final days. Five months since House was killed, and he floated right through it. He quit his job at the hospital, and moved to a little cottage in the mountains, away from everyone and everything he knew, with very little of a goodbye. Some figured it was grief, he denied it and said he wanted to spend his final months in solitude.

It was half truth. Half lie.

Wilson did want solitude, but another part of him wanted to escape the reminders that House left behind. He needed to escape the hospital because it was as if House's very ghost was haunting him everywhere he went.

But here. Here in these mountains, he was free and alone.  
Probably what he wanted all along.  
Maybe it was better if House went first.  
He could have an entire eternity with him, he just needed these final months to reflect, reflect on the life and friends he will leave behind, the void he'll leave in those he's touched, but in a way he is at peace with his impending death.

It was like a catharsis.  
When he died, he would be free from the never ending cycle that cancer created, no more chemo, no more spitting of blood, no more nights of endless agony, just peace.  
and House.

He felt the slow steady heartbeats, his life, his song was at its final chorus.

_thump... thump... th... _

He drew his last breath, shut his eyes for the final time, and soon, nothing. He would soon join Gregory House soon enough and then their eternity will begin.  
It was all just a catharsis.  
Death was simply a catharsis to James Wilson and to Gregory House and as they both cruised along the highways on their motorcycles, breeze blowing through their hair, they were finally at peace, souls purged and there was no looking back, simply a new chapter.

* * *

**Fin. **

_A/N: Well, I really hope this satisfies some of you :-) I just had to get this down after watching the finale for the first time last night so hopefully its not too terrible. _


End file.
